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50 Word story

Amy looked over her shoulder.

She knew she’d done a good job. But the client wanted conformation. A picture. So she returned to the scene. Sent one. Now all she needed to do was to get away. Avoid the police.

Her phone buzzed.

You killed the wrong one. Try again.

(c) Chris Johnson 2019

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The wreckage lay in the sun. Twisted, charred and burned. Ticking and groaning as it cooled.

In Nevada the choppers scrambled. Men in black racing the locals to the scene.

Perimeter set, the clean up begins.

All of the evidence, both of the small grey bodies, removed.

To Area 51.

(c) Chris Johnson 2018

“Paul! It is you?”

I turn and walk, speed up. He taps my shoulder.

“Paul, I know it’s you. Where have you been?”

Prison, but that’s not the point.

“Come on Paul, let’s get a drink?”

I turn again.

“Come on mate?” Less certain.

I walk away, dialling.

“Witness Protection. How can we help?”

“I’m blown!” I reply.

 

(c) Chris Johnson 2018